Trapped
by Caidre
Summary: Can Kel retain her identity as a pampered slave? Can this authors' readers forgive her for a long absence? Story being revamped, will be a KJ.
1. Default Chapter

Keladry of Mindelan, much to her own surprise, was not feeling any of the panic her fellow pages were openly displaying. Call it training, call it denial of a desperate situation, call it the product of an almost inhumanly practical personality, but Kel had fallen into an almost trancelike state the moment she had reached the pages' cliff top fortress.

It wasn't that she didn't care, Kel mused as she notched another arrow to her bow-one of their last, she noted- but that caring at this particular moment would certainly not improve matters. Take Neal, for instance. He was huddled in the corner, pale as a ghost, attempting to fix an unconscious Merric. His efforts-someone screamed, probably Faleron-could be better used to distract the bandits circling below. Or blowing the horn. Either Lord Wyldon had left the area, or the damned thing had broken, because after a full 40 minutes of intermittent blowing, no one useful was in site. Unless you counted bandits, of course; they had to, she assumed, serve some useful purpose to society in general, or they wouldn't continue to exist. Didn't she learn that in class? More Neal's area, really.

Kel broke off that unproductive train of thought and glanced around. While Prosper and Owen, wonder upon wonders, were still grimly aiming at their targets below, Neal was now tending to both Merrric and a badly injured Faleron, an arrow shaft sticking out of his right thigh. Careless, they were all being too careless. And why hadn't the bandits given up yet? There hadn't been nearly enough well trained fighters to sustain an attack of this length, especially with their women and children nearby and needing protection.

Kel risked a longer look through her protective rock covering. The remaining bandits, more then she had expected, had gathered into a tight circle and seemed to be arguing. While that relieved her somewhat, two men towards the back of the huddle caught her attention. One was obviously some type of merchant. His horse, a tall bay, was far too good for even the most successful of hill bandits to have acquired, not that one of the bandits' shaggy ponies would have supported this man. His pampered, well-fed look and small, neatly groomed moustache stood in stark appearance to the gaunt and unkempt hill bandits. However, this man did not greatly concern Keladry. No, it was the mage talking with him which shattered her detachment and made her blood run cold.

The Black Robe Numair Salmalin had taught the ungifted pages what he called their "most important" lesson in the last month of regular classes: 'How to recognize a mage,' or as he put it, how to realize when they were in over their heads.

"Hedgewitches and Healers," he lectured, "can easily serve their community without becoming even mildly prosperous. Any moderately or extremely well Gifted working mage nearly always acquires some form of wealth. Generally, the richer the mage, the more talented he is." This particular mage positively glistened with prosperity, from the identifying gold talisman around his neck to his well tailored, if obviously foreign, clothing.

Suddenly Kel realized why help hadn't come. The mage must be blocking the sound of the horn, already magically manipulated to carry across distances. Lord Wyldon wouldn't organize a search party for hours yet, and they were fast running out of arrows. Kel mind raced frantically. Someone tapped lightly on her shoulder. Kel spun around, desperately attempting to form some semblance of the Yamani mask. "How bad?" demanded Neal, his white face belying his attempt at calm.

Kel considered. "We need to go somewhere else," she finally said, trying to say the words as innocuously as possible. Neal looked at her, then at Owen who had appeared at her shoulder, and bit back a question.

"Fine" he responded. "Where to?" Quick consultation with Neal, Owen, and Faleron, while Prosper covered, yielded the only possible solution. Their best chance was to sneak the page out of the hollow as quietly as possible; hopefully, the bandits wouldn't figure out their new position until the pages had at least determined whether they could escape.

"Prosper, you and Neal first," Kel whispered. "Try to cover the others if the bandits suspect anything." They both nodded, Neal looking hesitant. Slowly, they eased out of the cave and ranup the goat track. Kel tensed, but they only ran a hundred yards before disappearing down the cliff. The pages waited for the five minutes they had agreed upon moments before. Everyone smiled when they passed with no sign of the pages returning Kel sighed; at least the pages now had a second shelter, hopefully a more hidden cave, or maybe even a way back to camp. She sent the rest of the pages on ahead of her, all the while nervously watching the group of bandits, which still seemed to be arguing fiercely.

As Faleron, injured but insisting on being the last to leave, hobbled out the cave, Kel hesitated. Something just seemed off about the bandits' positioning. They wee grouped the same way as before, she could still hear muted talk, but something was different. The same people, the same positions, the same horses, the mages' tall bay…

Kel turned pale. The bay's tail wasn't moving in the wind.

Any thoughts disappeared as Kel's world went black.


	2. Into Slavery

Hello my dahlings, and thank you for all the lovely reviews. It may seem like a simple thing, but it means a lot to me. As I have received a complaint calling for single spacing, I will do next chapter, on a trial basis. Sorry for the shortness, but this is a basic filler chapter. Next chapter will be both longer and more interesting. Promise.

Kel drifted lazily into consciousness, momentarily unaware of her

situation. This blessing evaporated at the sharp kick to her ribs.

"Enough, Eng!," an elderly feminine foice barked harshly. "You'll

ruin the merchandise."

Kel opened her eyes to find herself staring into beady black eyes,

extenuated by webs of wrinkles surrounding them. The old woman

cackled hideously and moved aside, revealing the scowling man

behind her. As groggy as Kel still was, the look in his eyes made her

creep backwards on the floor and whimper softly.

"Don't worry dear" the old woman smiled broadly. "You're intact.

Drives up the price, but makes Eng here mighty frustrated."

Reassured somewhat, though still not certain of what the woman

meant, Kel looked over her surroundings. She was in a tent, complete

with musky odor and close ceilings. Surprisingly, the tent was

decorated fairly lavishly; the rug underneath Kel was thickly ornate,

and gaudy gold ornaments hung from the tent posts. The man and

woman both were clothed in oddly decorated purple silk robes, and

wore heavy gold earrings and rings. Suddenly, she looked at herself

. She was stark naked, and partially burnt from the desert sun.

Somewhat belatedly, Kel drew a mask over her face, concealing her

panic. She hadn't been raped, both her own body and the old

woman's words told her that much, but certainly worse things were in

store. The likelihood of being kidnapped by desperate bandits just to

be released, even for a hefty ransom, seemed unlikely.

The old woman again laughed. "I think I know your buyer. You're

young, cute, and a fighter. Now, I'm going to tell you the way its

going to be . . ."

Kel stood naked on a raised wooden platform. Even behind the

curtain that served as barrier between buyers and waiting slaves, she

could hear the bellows of the auctioneer, the man Eng, and the

cultured voices, both foreign and in Common. The slaves, as the

elderly slave trader had instructed her, remained silent at all times,

unless told by a bidder to speak. Kel normally wouldn't have obeyed

such strictures, but the trader anticipated this. Spells bound her from

both speaking and running away. Chains and gags would have done

this as well, but, according to the trader, this would have hidden her

attributes. What these were, the fairly innocent Kel had little idea of,

as well as where exactly she was, and why the voices beyond the

curtain lacked the coarseness she usually associated with slavery.

These voices died down. Abruptly, Eng thrust his head through the

curtains.

"You're up, sweeting, " he hissed at her, and with a crude tongue

thrust, retreated back onto the block. Involuntarily, Kel's hands drew

apart the heavy curtains, and she stepped through into the sunlight.


	3. The Auction

Sorry about the spacing guys, and for the wonderful reviews! I will definitely keep writing this. Please review, it really does mean a lot. Tell me if there are any problems!

Kel took a deep breath, and stepped out through the curtains. She nearly fell. The floor was

hard and, unlike the blazing desert sun outside, cold. There was a large silk canopy hanging

over the crowd, but only a very cheap one over her. But what really unnerved her were the

eyes. About fifty people were scrutinizing her face and all too exposed body. She suddenly

realized what cows must feel like at auction. Like them, she was viewed as a piece of meat.

As she tried to gather herself, she looked around. While there were several clumps of what were

obviously buyers from other markets, some of the faces in the crowd jumped out. There was an

entire retinue of veiled women, several distinguished Tortallon gentlemen, a large clump of

Easterners, and even one immaculately dressed Scanran, only distinguishable by the medallion

around his neck. Nearly all races and nationalities were present in the crowd, and all of them

displayed the trappings of wealth, from heavy gold bangles on women to large emeralds on the

fingers of men. Kel's heart sunk. All of her elaborate plans of escape, conceived while waiting

for her term, would not work. Anyone with this much money would be able to afford magical

bindings, which the Giftless Kel could not possibly escape. The hopelessness that the Keladry,

always an optimist, had suppressed was choking her.

Eng clapped to gain the attention of the muttering crowd. "Has everyone seen enough?" he

asked respectfully and only slightly higher than his normal tone. The clientele turned to each

other, conferred, and finally everyone displayed assent, from spoken 'yes' in Common and

Scanran to nods and arcane gestures Kel could only guess at. "Good" he said brusquely, and

led her to a high wooden stool perched in the center of the stage. At his gesture, the confused

Kel clumsily sat, her feet dangling two feet from the floor. Endal turned to her and grinned

maliciously, out of the view of the crowd. He slowly raised his arm, than sharply snapped his

fingers.

Suddenly, the auction and its sounds disappeared. Kel could not see, hear, speak, and as she

swiftly discovered, move. She was enveloped in a heavy cloak of darkness, with no one to hear

or care about her silent screams. It seemed to go on for eternity. She was lost in nothing, was

nothing, heard nothing . . . a snap rang out. The black void was immediately replaced by

Eng's smugly grinning face.

"Didn't like that, did you now?" he muttered to her as Kel unsteadily descended from the

enchanted stool. "Wouldn't want you to know your own worth, could make you unruly; well,

but thats prob'ly what they wants with you. Always know a fighter when they sees one." He

chuckled to himself, firmly gripped her arm and almost dragged her down the stairs.

A man was waiting there, actually two men, but only one that caught Kel's attention

immediately. He lounged against the edge of the stage with cat-like grace, revealing well defined

abdominals and muscular arms. His face was hidden from view by unruly dark hair, which

contrasted the rest of his wealthy, but very foreign dress. He was speaking animatedly to his

companion, a pompous looking older man who looked to be his father, with the exuberance of

youth. Kel, realizing that she and Eng were fast approaching them, slid her Yamani mask into place.

The young man faced her. Kel nearly gasped despite her mask.


	4. The Master

Sorry for the looong delay. Loved your reviews, so I got a sudden whim to continue the story. I'll

address specific reviews next chapter, so will only say this now :

PLEASE REVIEW!!! I'm a horrible procrastinator, so the reviews really help-even if bad. If you

want to e-mail me- and please do- its on my profile.

It wasn't him. This she could tell even before Kel noticed the slight scar on the young man's

forehead, only partially covered by his coal-black hair. But the nose, the mouth, even the shape of

the eyes were an older replica of Joren's, enough so that she was too busy staring to notice Eng

clearing his throat meaningfully and crouching down to her eye level.

"Now, I'll leave you here with your master and his father," Eng informed her, his voice dripping

with honey. "You be good now, sweetheart." Then with a last, lustful glance, he lumbered to his

feet and wheezed up the stairs.

Slightly stunned by this "change" in Eng, Kel momentarily didn't notice the stares she was getting

from her masters, at least not until the older one began to speak.

"Although you belong to my son, and much more expense," he added, glaring at his son, "than

usual for a single slave, you are a member of my household now. As such, you will refer to myself

as Your Highness and my son whatever he chooses to have you call him."

At this the old man abruptly stopped speaking, waited for a second, then nudged his son who was

still staring at his new slave. "Raston, its your duty."

Raston, as Kel assumed he was called, shook himself slightly, as if to draw himself out of the spell

he had fallen under, and impatiently snapped his fingers. At once, a guard, bare-chested and clad

in only in voluminous silk pants, came to attention and barked an incomprehensible order into the

green tent adjacent to the area they were standing in. A portly man, barely as tall as Kel herself,

scurried out of the tent, and promptly fell flat on his face. As Kel stared and her masters, she

noticed bemusedly, hid laughter, the man got up, dusted himself off, and ran back into the tent,

returning with an ornate gold mosaic box, which he placed in young Raston's hands, and

ungracefully knelt at his feet. Raston reverently opened the box. This time Kel stared for another

reason, his and his father's attention to the contents of the box giving her time to study Raston

unobserved

If Joren was the most beautiful man she had ever seen, Raston was certainly the most handsome,

with perfect, though definitely masculine features: golden brown eyes, a generous soft mouth, black

eyelashes. Kel, rather ignorant of slavery customs, had always assumed that the only people who

bought slave girls, as she guessed she was, were ugly old men who couldn't receive a woman's

company willingly. Apparently, judging by Raston's decidedly sensuous (a word Kel had never

had occasion to use before) mouth, she had been fortunately mistaken.

Raston, after admiring the contents of the box, handed the box to the kneeling slave, who carefully

turned it to show Kel, who was now beginning to think this was some sort of ritual, its insides. It

was an exquisite-even Kel could admit that- amber gold collar, with dark rubies incrusted into a

beautiful geometric design. Raston removed the necklace from the upturned hands of the man, and

beckoned imperiously to Kel, though with a reassuring wink. Kel, who in actuality did not find a

foreigner's, especially one who intended to use her for his own purposes, wink reassuring,

nevertheless strode purposely forward to face Raston. Her attempt at a kneel, as she assumed

was customary, was stayed by a gentle hand at the waist. Raston entwined his hands, though

rather awkwardly with the one holding the necklace, with hers, and raced them to her neck. The

collar flowed magically from their hands to her neck, tightening until achieving the exact fit. Raston

spoke then, his husky voice seeming to break her out of the momentary dizziness the collar

induced. His words, though, were not in common, but an ancient language, one that spoke of the

gods, of flame, of wind, of earth.

"Come with me."

And Kel _understood_.


	5. The Game

Yes, its been awhile. Sorry, and please review!

Kel looked out the window of her carriage, musing on both the

strangeness of her new situation and her master. Somehow Raston had

helped her into the ornate box she was currently occupying, which

seemed more like a tent then any compartment she might have used in

Corus. Not to mention the fact that the horses here were much more,

well, human, then the one's that usually transported the nobility. Being

carried, however gently, by four toned male slaves was odd indeed. Far

greater then the strangeness of her current position was her new situation

as a female slave. She had no doubt that she would be some sort of

sexual object, judging from the slave-sellers comments, but Raston,

from the brief glance she had got of him, didn't seem the type that needed

to buy company for his bed. But, Kel realized, she didn't even know

where she was, or even if this place had a name in her country. Tortall's

maps were accurate, but only encompassed areas and countries that had

relationships and enmity with Tortall and its most immediate allies. And

while Kel was certain Carthak had far more detailed maps, the ancient

country still was hesitant to send knowledge to its most recent allies.

Some of the more powerful mages could transport people great

distances, Numair had taught the pages this year. Kel had the unsettling

feeling that, yet again, his teachings applied to her.

The desert Kel watched out the opening in her silken carriage seemed to

go on forever, which seemed to the good as far as her predicament was

concerned. Kel was afraid. Despite the apparent kindness of her master

and the grandeur of her surroundings, Kel was still a slave, probably

bought for her master's pleasure. She quickly made a decision. Despite

the fact that she was miles away from her family and friends, with little

hope of ever going home, she would fight. She would not just let herself

become anyone else's plaything, no matter how sensuous, that stupid

word again, his lips. Kel nodded firmly to herself. With this new resolve,

she fell asleep.

Kel opened her eyes to meet the green gaze of a familiar face. The round

little man she remembered from the collar ceremony was staring at her

with unconcealed curiosity. Kel bit back a gasp of surprise and quickly

donned her most expressionless Yamani mask.

"Who are you?" she asked dispassionatly.

"I," the man announced proudly, motioning to himself, "am Galrand the

Fool, most cherished slave of the Princes of J'rasdwaren. And I," he

added with a cackle, "am here to instruct you on the rules of the game."

Kel didn't lose her composure, despite this revelation. "What am I

then?" she asked, as he clearly would tell her about this game without

prodding.

"You are a player in the game," Galrand answered, waggling his

eyebrows. "Or a victim. It matters little to me. What you must know, of

course, are the rules," he began briskly. "You are Prince Raston's. No

one else may interfere with you, so its no use whimpering whenever a

man looks at you crossly. He can do whatever her wants with you, but

traditionally its not painful, so theres no use killing yourself."

Kel merely nodded, wondering if his words were tradition, or based on

previous "players" behavior. She supposed it was a little of both.

"You lose when you say his name." Galrand nodded, apparently finished.

"What happens if I lose?" Kel asked with trepidation.

"You have given in. You are his, you will stay with him for the rest of

his life."

"How do I win?"

"He gives up. Then, you'll go wherever you wish. But," Galrand paused,

thinking, and added "he won't give up."

Gets me to say his name, Kel pondered. How could he possibly get me to say his name?


	6. The Play

Well, thank you to all the people who kept on reviewing, despite the looong wait. I'm definitely going to finish this story, no matter how long it takes (waves fist at sky). Anyhow, I may have some ratings issues. I still don't think this is tasteless though. If it ever becomes such a problem that anyone feels offended, or that I need to up the rating to mature, e-mail me first please. I might not change the rating, but e-mail the more adult parts to anyone who really wants it. Please review guys with complaints, comments, suggestions or whatever. Y'all have my e-mail address.

Kel was confused. She had been kidnapped, tied up, and transported across gods know how

many miles to a mysterious location. This was not the source of her confusion. Kel wasn't naïve.

She had expected beatings at best, more realistically to become someone's reluctant plaything. The

Game was not part of the program. Kel hadn't missed the prince reference by Galston, especially

since she had been ordered to call Ralston's father "Highness." What type of game was played by

good-looking princes with their female slaves? Kel fingered the collar around her neck and looked

around, shaking off her confusion for a more practical stoicism.

Galrand's departure had been followed with the arrival of several seemingly native servants, not

slave, girls. They had led her to her room down a long, high hallway, another surprise to Kel.

However, she had not been energetic enough to explore the room or the enclave it was in,

completely. In fact, she had been just awake enough to note the red silk sheets on her large, nearly

Tortallon style bed before collapsing onto it. She was only now, several hours later, able to muse

on her unusual predicament.

Kel sat up on the bed. It was unusually comfortable, she noted, with red silk sheets, a large number

of pillows and a squashiness that suggested it had a core of down. The room itself reflected the

bed. The walls were not tent, as Kel had automatically assumed from the sand out her carriage

window, but solid, and painted a muted white. The floors, Kel found, were cold marble, but

covered almost completely in ornately detailed rugs woven in reds, blues, greens, and golds. There

was no wardrobe to speak of, but at the foot of the bed was a large gold stained wooden trunk.

Over it was laid out silk underclothes and a light amber silk shift Kel assumed were for her. She put

them on quickly, glancing worriedly at the door. Stupid, Kel admonished herself. She was a slave,

but not bought (she hoped) for the pleasure of some perverted voyeur. Not that there was that

much to look at, she added wryly, glancing at her silk-adorned, but still virtually nonexistent,

cleavage. The door though, began to look very appealing. Kel walked over, took a deep breath,

and laid her right hand on the bronze handle. Instantaneously a jolt ran up from her fingertips to her

wrist and arm. Kel stepped back, surprised. The door however, did, indeed, open. Without her

prompting it swung open, but not by the magic that shocked her arm. No, the door had been

opened by a very handsome young male named Raston.

Kel gaped, before composing her face into blandness. I am a calm lake, she thought desperately, I

am a stone. Her thoughts were spiraling at an amazingly fast rate. Yes, a stone. No matter what he

did, and Kel had an uncomfortable inkling of just what he might do, from her talk with Galrand, she

would remain the same. If the game worked the way the portly man had informed her, she could

just refrain from saying his name and be released. She had no doubt that it would be difficult, but

she wasn't called the Yamani Lump for nothing. If, she realized with dawning clarity, she never said

anything at all, she could eliminate the small possibility of accidentally saying his name. Thus

resolved, Keladry of Mindelan raised her eyes to meet her master's.

Raston was eyeing her with curiosity. "May I?" he asked finally, with a gesture towards the room.

Kel nodded mutely and stepped aside. Raston entered the room gracefully, with the barely audible

swish of silk from his pants and loose shirt, which only barely concealed the bare skin beneath.

Raston, to Kel's surprise, sat on the floor against Kel's bed. Following the orders of a polite hand

gesture, Kel seated herself on the edge of her bed, next to her master.

Raston's sprawl on the floor did little to alleviate Kel's nervousness. Neither did his quick smile at

her. "My name is Raston," he informed her pleasantly. Kel nodded. "What's your name?" he

enquired with easy grace. Kel, not normally prone to emotion, was swiftly becoming angered from,

of all things, his questioning. Kel did indeed know men like Raston, Joren for one. Men who

immediately assumed that that their looks, money and charm would seduce everyone around them.

Kel, the assumed emotionless Yamani Lump, was having none of it. She stared at him blankly, with

all the expression of a mushroom. Raston raised an eyebrow. "Nervous? Theres no need, no one

will hurt you here," he explained with a slightly condescending smile. When still no reply came out

of Kel, Raston looked mildly concerned. "Are you ill? Can you speak at all?" he added, looking

annoyed. "I swear, if the old bats sold me a mute . . ." His voice trailed off as he reached for Kel's

throat. If he wants to kill me, I can't stop him, thought Kel, letting him. A dark red cloud formed

around his hands and sank into her neck. "Not mute, then," he confirmed with satisfaction. "Maybe

stupid then?" He again raised an eyebrow. "Or clever. I do appreciate a challenge. We train for the

game almost all our lives, you know. Only one girl, though . . ." Raston smirked. His charm still did

nothing for Kel, but when his full lips smiled at her, his chatter was the only thing that kept her from

losing her Mask and staring like a lovestruck court maiden.

"I'm to explain the Game to you. Fair play and all that. Maybe you won't understand, though." His

mocking gaze turned thoughtful. "Or I could just show you." Despite the terror she felt at his

words, Kel met his light brown eyes with vapid serenity. Then she felt a hand on her bare foot.

Surprised, Kel glanced down, and back at Raston, who's eyes were glued to her face.

The hand, which Kel noted was surprisingly calloused for a man obviously accustomed to luxury,

began to move on Kel's bare skin, caressing her left foot lightly. Raston's handglided up to

her ankle, continuing his light movements. Kel was having a little trouble remaining expressionless.

She was not ticklish, but meeting Raston's gaze whilst his hand moved on her foot was difficult. His

hand moved further, teasing the skin on her calf. She still met Raston's gaze boldly. Then his warm

hand touched her knee. Kel nearly jerked. Raston's eyes lost their mocking glint and darkened. His

fingers made little circles on her outer thighs and started to move inwards. Raston's eyes were

moving closer, just like his hands were, Kel thought, panicking. Her breathing was quickening,

coming out in short little pants she was certain Raston had noticed. His face came closer to hers,

finally stopping with his sensuous lips just inches from hers. "Say my name" he ordered huskily, his

eyes nearly black and his hand creeping up her inner thigh.

Kel placed her hands on his bare chest and shoved. Raston, surprised, lost his perch on the bed

and fell hard on the floor. He looked up.

Kel lost her Yamani mask. Her hazel eyes blazed with fury, and clarity.

"So," Raston drawled from his position on the floor. "Not stupid."

Please review! Sorry for the long wait between chapters.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you for the reviews! I'd practically abandoned writing altogether when I checked my e-mail. You guys are still the best (squeals girlishly)! I probably will have to bump up the rating, but I plan on putting out at least this chapter first. So, look for only the most subtle smut and sexual references. Sorry! Updates will be every other day. Let me know how y'all like the new format and semi-different style.

Kel promptly discarded every visible sign of her anger. Or, to be more precise, futively attempted to call upon a childhood of conscious emotional repression to combat her first . . . Well, she didn't know what she would call that 'encounter' with her buyer. It certainly wasn't unpleasant, per se, just different, she thought numbly. And why was he still there! Shouldn't he be doing anything other then lying there with that little smirk on his . . .! Kel found that it was an exceedingly bad idea to muse on Raston's lips, which he was currently using to speak.

"So," he drawled languidly. "Can I have your name now?"

Kel glared more furiously. Did he think she was an idiot?

"No penalties for talking, just so you know." Raston was making placating hand gestures, odd from his position on the floor of her room. "And the silence thing will be a little hard to keep up. You'll be here for a while."

Kel was assuredly not impressed. Raston, despite his attempts to placate her, appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. All Kel was sure was that she wanted him out and out now! She couldn't think about anything other then murdering him at the present. Kel needed a plan. Unfortunately, the only one she could come up with was repulsive, degrading, and contrary to nearly every value her parents, friends, and even training master, had imposed on her. It was also the only plan she had.

Kel steeled her heart, shut off her sensibilities and dredged up the saddest scene of the most heartrenching play Neal had ever forced her to listen to.

"Why are you crying?" Raston looked alarmed. "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?"

Kel sobbed harder. Apparently, she had been a bit rash at scoffing at her sisters' early plans for world domination (a phase they had quickly grown out of). Men really couldn't stand seeing crying females.

"Just go," Kel gasped out through the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please!"

Her speaking appeared to only increase the worried expression on Raston's face. He stood up awkwardly, and held up his hands.

"Look, this is the way the game is played!" His eyes darted from side to side. Kel inwardly grinned. Apparently, the good-looking, rich, and obviously sexually experienced could also be completely inept at comforting women. Raston appeared to be attempting to turn himself invisible through sheer willpower and the most odd hand gestures she had ever seen. Kel briefly considered feigning offence. She was foreign, after all. Raston might believe that his current conciliatory hand gesture, which bore uncanny resemblance to a butterfly floating in the wind, might translate to 'filthy whore' in Tortall. But she might not have to _pretend_ offence. Raston was currently shoving his hands down his pants, in an apparent effort to find something. Kel was not going to speculate on what exactly he had lost. But what Raston was pulling out from his pants was perhaps the most surprising thing that she had seen this trip. It was a bright pink silk handkerchief.

"You could use this to, you know . . ." Raston's words trailed off as he handed Kel the scrap of fabric. She took it dumbly. This certainly was an interesting arrangement, she mused as she dried her eyes. Her 'master' was beginning to reveal himself as being little more then an overly affected teenage boy, not unlike Neal. Hardly a dark mysterious presence. Though this presence, or lack thereof, was now urging her, with more conventional hand gestures, to sit on her bed. Kel sat. So did Raston.

He broke the relative silence abruptly.

"Its alright." Kel saw his jaw tense as she stared at him. It slowly relaxed. "No, I mean that," he began almost gently. "While you're here, no one will ever hurt you. I'll never hurt you." Raston moved one of his hands to Kel's shoulder, massaging it comfortingly. Kel stopped crying in shock. Raston's hand continued to move, mapping out her neck, tracing her spine delicately, and finally moving to the sensitive skin of her lower back. Once again, his touch didn't feel at all unpleasant, just odd. Raston opened he mouth; Kel knew what he was going to ask, knew what he would ask every day, and she was already sick of the question. So Kel struck first.

Kel reached behind her, grabbed and twisted. Raston's question turned into a yelp, as he found himself thumping face foreword onto her sheets. It was several minutes before he began gesturing. Kel sighed, and turned him over., expecting to be the recipient of a long lecture on her 'status,' or the privileges she was enjoying.

Smoldering dark eyes bore into hers. And Raston was, quite obviously, even to a virgin like Kel, aroused. To say Kel was dumbfounded would be a huge understatement. She did not attempt to stop Raston as he got off her bed and walked towards the door. At the threshold he paused.

"Tomorrow then?"

"Yes"

He swept out the door.

A/N Any guesses on where this is going? I have the next two chapters outlined, so

I know . . .


	8. Chapter 8

A/N There are no excuses. Feel free to hate me. Or review. Whatever works. I'm in the process of redoing the first 6 chapters to make them, not quite so horrible. I rather like Chapter 7 though. Okay, so as long as no one tattles, I'll be able to keep this at T for one more chapter. So, please don't turn any smut/vague sexual references into a huge deal. The ratings going up this chapter.

Many of the nobility in Tortall, for varied and often sexist reasons, thought Keladry of Mindelan was insane. Apparently a burning desire for a career involving hitting others with various implements and a distinct lack of bathing was considered normal only for males. Keladry of Mindelan was not insane. She merely, she often told herself, wanted different things for her life then most girls. At the moment, however, Kel could not classify herself as anything but totally, and completely, out of her mind.

She had said yes. As in, he had asked, for all intents and purposes, whether or not he could visit her the following day, and she had agreed. She was only 12, for Mithros' sake. Far too young to be mooning over some boy, even one so, well, gifted. Its not as if she didn't have access to attractive males in her everyday life. Faleron, for instance, was quite attractive…Faleron, who had an arrow in his leg, and had gone with the rest of the pages. Had they escaped?

The reality of her situation hit Kel like a slap in the face. She wasn't mooning over some boy at the palace, but her Master, who had bought her from a slave auction. Romantic. And regardless of the perks of her situation, and the Game-which she still didn't completely understand-she was still a slave. In a land that Kel, never known for her skills in geography or history,, couldn't find on a map if her life depended on it. Which it probably did, at the moment, If she could run away, which seemed unlikely, from her hazy knowledge of slave collar magic, which way would she go? Which brought her back to the object of her earlier, and far more frivolous thoughts, Raston.

Could he, and more importantly, would he, get her back home? Could she, in all likelihood, win the game?

Kel sighed, almost regretfully. It wasn't a matter of choice. While she was certain Lord Wyldon and her friends would be looking for her, it was hardly productive to sit on her rear end, and wait to be rescued. She was no damsel in distress, and this was no tale. If it was, she'd be better looking. Her parents, for that matter, would be frantic by now. Her only option, then, was to win the game. Was there a time limit of sorts? Did calling his name have to be in a particular context or would slipping it out if he surprised her count too?

Kel considered. Playing dumb hadn't worked before, and likely wouldn't again, especially if he tried to well, seduce, if that's what he was doing, her into behaving. And she wasn't even going to speculate on Raston's reaction to her display of strength. Kel nodded decisively. She would have to speak as little as possible, no hardship there, and think through everything she did say. She was going home. Just as soon as they fed her. Planning made her hungry.

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Lord Wyldon of Cavall was not pleased. One of his pages, the young boys-and girl-parents trusted he would look after, was missing. Not just missing, either. If she were merely 'missing' there would have been some sign of her disappearance. The chit had vanished into thin air. Wyldon's scowl became even more pronounced.

"Are the other pages well?" King Jonathon inquired.

Numair Salmalin muttered loudly next to the monarch's throne. This meeting, combining members of both the old and new nobility, conservatives and progressives, served a dual purpose.: to both find Keladry of Mindelan and display a united front to the populace. Understandably, the atmosphere in the private throne room was very tense.

"Well enough, your majesty," Wyldon replied. "Minor injuries, but nothing fatal. The page Faleron of King's Reach claims that he and Keladry had planned to be the last to leave, but that he somehow lost her on the way to the camp."

"This whole situation is ludicrous," one of the Minchis huffed. "Likely enough the girl decided to quit and just ran away. This is hardly a matter of importance."

Numair finally looked up. "I combed the area ten miles around that cliff. There was no sign of her, and the barest traces of a mage in the cave. The girl is not Gifted. It is highly likely she was kidnapped."

"Wonder who would want that!" the Lioness snapped, pacing in the area next to the table.

"I'll bet you looked hard for that page, Wyldon."

"Alanna, enough." The King sighed. "The most we can do now is to do damage control. Make certain that everyone, no matter how old their family, is visibly searching. Numair, do you have any ideas where she could have been taken?"

Numair shrugged and sat down heavily in one of the ornately carved chairs surrounding a large banquet table. "I have no idea where the bandits acquired a mage able of taking Keladry anywhere, let alone to a place I can't trace. Can I question any of the hill bandits?"

"Dead," the King sighed. "No visible injury, aside from the ones obviously taken care of by the pages."

"I'll take a look at the bodies then."

The King looked around the table, lingering on the most upset faces and likely taking note of the least affected. Wyldon glanced around. Many of the older nobility were as upset as those in the new. A child was a child, regardless of political affiliation. And nearly all nobility agreed that kidnapping of any of their ranks signified lack of respect. Except for the middle Minchi brother, Wyldon noted, but he was hardly intelligent enough to orchastrate a kidnapping. Wyldon sighed. He didn't like the girl, but she didn't deserve to be taken to gods-no-where. She needed to come back soon. Or they might have a civil war on their hands.


End file.
